


A Mending Of The Tears

by MomentsOfWeakness



Series: The Blaine Hummel 'Verse [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Gen, minor allusions to sexual assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 02:50:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MomentsOfWeakness/pseuds/MomentsOfWeakness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine gets sick before Regionals. He's never had someone to take care of him before. (This is an interlude for Your Steady Hands.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mending Of The Tears

**Author's Note:**

> This is an interlude for the story 'Your Steady Hands'. It takes place between 'Bargaining - Part Two' and 'Depression - Part One'. (I just really love Carole, okay? I wanted a story of her being an awesome mom to Blaine, since he's never had one.)

Blaine stumbled up the basement stairs ungracefully. Everything looked fuzzy and he had to hold onto the wall to keep from falling over. It was the day of Regionals, and he felt like throwing up. 

He had woken up that morning choking back a scream, the images from the nightmare already fading as he turned to make sure Kurt was still sleeping. He had been doing that more and more lately, waking up on his own before he could disturb Kurt. He was grateful really, that the other boy didn't have to deal with his problems as much, but every night that he woke up alone he missed the feel of Kurt’s arms around him.

Last night had been bad though. He had lain in bed for nearly an hour, fighting the urge to run to the bathroom and throw up. Finally, feeling like he was suffocating under the heat of the blankets, he had slipped out of bed and tried working on his Spanish homework. Kurt, as promised, was doing fantastically. Blaine was...well, he was still getting sympathetic looks from Mr. Schuester.

When the words had started to blur into shapeless lumps on the page, his eyes swimming with fatigue, he had decided to go upstairs and see if he could help Carole with breakfast.

As he reached the top of the stairs, clutching pathetically at the door frame to keep from tumbling back down them again, he heard Burt and Carole in the kitchen, arguing in that way they had that was more like a debate than a fight.

“I just don't like them being there, Carole. Especially when I can't see them. Who knows who could get backstage without anyone knowing.”

“Honey, Kurt and Finn will be with the rest of the group the entire time, and Blaine will be with us. There's nothing to worry about.”

“But what if-”

“What are the odds that he's even going to be there? Didn't Kurt say the Warblers usually went to all their performances alone?”

“Yeah. But-”

“ _But_ we haven't heard a word from him since that day at the school. There's no reason for him to just show up now. Burt, stop worrying.”

Carole's reassurance may have been enough for Burt because he stopped arguing, the only sounds from the kitchen the noise of a meal being cooked, but they did nothing to quell the nausea in Blaine’s stomach. If anything their argument had made it worse. He had thought he was being ridiculous, worrying that Grant would show at Regionals when he had never been to any of the Warblers' performances before. But if Burt was worried too...

Blaine willed the rolling in his stomach to subside, and quietly slipped out of the basement doorway and into the kitchen. “Can I help?”

Carole and Burt turned toward him together, and together their faces turned to concern.

“Blaine, honey, are you alright?” Carole asked, setting down the spatula she had been holding and taking a step toward him. He must look as bad as he felt. Damn.

“I'm fine,” he said, forcing his voice to sound steady, sincere. He didn't want them worrying about him. Carole was right, there was nothing to worry _about_. “Can I help? I-I want to help.”

He cursed the stutter in his voice because it just caused them both to look even more concerned. Burt took a step towards him, but Blaine hopped out of his reach, trying to act casual. He didn't want to be comforted right now, he just wanted to not think about it. He wanted people to stop worrying and for everything to just be _normal_ again.

“Maybe you should sit down, kiddo,” Burt said carefully, pointing to the dining table but not moving towards Blaine again. 

“No, I-”

“Blaine...Oh, Blaine!” Carole had placed a hand on his shoulder, probably to try and steer him over to the table, and really, Blaine is starting to think he should listen to them because he kind of feels like he's going to fall over, but she had pulled back immediately, snatching her hand away like she had been burned. 

“Sit. Now, mister,” she ordered, turning away from Blaine to dig through one of the kitchen drawers. Blaine just stood there dumbly, watching her. The rolling in his stomach was getting worse.

“It-it's just nerves,” he said softly, hating to admit it; hating that Grant could still affect him this way. It had been weeks. Shouldn't he be getting better now?

“Blaine, nerves don't cause fevers,” Carole said, rounding on him with a thermometer in hand. 

“A fever?” Burt gave up on giving Blaine space and moved so that he could place the back of his hand on Blaine’s forehead.

“Jesus, you're burning up.” Burt took him firmly by the shoulders and steered him over to the table. Blaine sank down woodenly just as Carole stuck the thermometer into his mouth. Was he actually sick? He had assumed it was just the fear of seeing anyone from Dalton, especially Grant, making him nauseous, making sweat run down his back and his body tremble.

When Carole took the thermometer out of his mouth she hissed and passed it to Burt.

“103.2?!” Huh. Maybe he really was sick.

Blaine opened his mouth to say as much and promptly leaned over and threw up.

*

“But I promised I'd help them get ready.”

“Blaine-”

“They worked so hard.”

“Blaine-”

“And Kurt has his first concert solo! I can't miss that!”

“Blaine, stop.”

Blaine’s mouth snapped shut and he felt his eyes well up with tears. He _didn't_ want to go. He didn't want to face the Warblers, and the thought that Grant might be there made the trembling start all over again. But he also didn't want to _not_ go. Burt was right; he needed to stop running.

Carole gave him a sympathetic look. Blaine was really getting tired of those; he didn't want anyone's sympathy.

“Honey, if your fever was any higher we'd be taking you to the hospital. You can't go to the show, I'm sorry. Just try and get some rest.” She patted his hand gently and pulled the freshly changed blankets of his own never-before-used bed up around his shoulders, then turned and left the room, switching off the light as she reached the top of the stairs.

“He really can't go?” Blaine heard Kurt ask Carole, his voice hushed but still carrying through the half-open door.

“I'm sorry, Kurt. I know you want him there, but he's just too sick. There will be other performances. And Finn, honey...I need to stay with him. He's too sick to be left alone.”

“But...okay.”

“Finn...”

“No, it's okay. We...we always tape the shows anyway. You can just watch that. It's okay.”

The voices trailed off as they all moved away from the door and Blaine felt his stomach turn again. Finn's quick acceptance was almost the worst part. They had all made so many sacrifices. It wasn't fair. 

It was his own fault he was in this situation in the first place. If he had just been smarter like Kurt, if he had never gone with Grant in the first place, they wouldn't have to be putting up with all of this, with him.

As he drifted off to sleep he promised himself that he would be less of a burden.

*

Blaine was vaguely aware of the presence beside him, but mostly he just knew that his mouth tasted terrible and his stomach and throat ached. He had lost track of how long he had been hunched over the toilet bowl, gagging up the acid in his stomach because everything else had come up hours ago.

Carole had been kneeling beside him the whole time, rubbing his back and crooning soft words of comfort. It should have made him feel better, but it just made him feel guilty. So much for not being a burden.

He took a deep breath, hopeful that his traitorous stomach was done for the moment, and leaned back on his heels. The room swam in front of his eyes and he groaned. Suddenly a cool cloth was draped carefully across his neck.

“I can...you shouldn't...”

“Hush,” Carole said softly, brushing the curls from his forehead, completely unconcerned with the sick smell that emanated through the room, or the disgusting mess that Blaine presented right now. “It's what mothers do.”

_“Mama? Mama, I don't feel well.”_

_“Blaine, not now. Ask Gregory to get you some medicine, I'm busy.”_

Blaine winced, hunching over again as his stomach turned. “O-okay.”

Carole pulled the cloth from his neck and used it to gently wipe the sweat from his face. Her careful touch, the kindness in her eyes when Blaine looked up at her, broke his heart and he suddenly found himself crying, sobbing into her shoulder on the bathroom floor, though he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. All he knew was that her arms around him, her soft voice in his ear and the kiss she placed on his head as she rocked him was like nothing he had ever felt before and it made him ache. 

*

The voice was horribly off-key, but it was soft and the song was sweet, words he didn't know, tender and lilting. Blaine turned over beneath the blankets, didn't open his eyes; his whole body hurt and he felt like he was freezing despite the sweat that slid down his skin to soak into his clothes. The voice paused for a moment, a hand slid across his back, rubbing gently, then the song started again.

“Mom?” he murmured, confused as to why his mother was in his room. Gregory was usually the one that took care of him when he was sick.

“Shh,” came a hushed voice from beside him. “Go back to sleep, Blaine.”

Blaine sighed and relaxed into the pillow, drifting back off to sleep again.

*

Blaine woke to the feel of someone crawling into the bed with him. He opened his eyes to see Kurt’s grinning face beaming at him in the soft light of the bedside table.

“Sorry,” Kurt whispered, arranging the blankets up around both of their shoulders. “I was trying to be quiet.” He snuggled in close to Blaine and the bright smile on his face was sweet enough that Blaine forgave the outright lie. It was obvious he wanted to talk.

“You won,” Blaine said, his voice hoarse because of his aching throat. His stomach turned over and his eyes were swimming, but he took a slow, deep breath to get passed it so that he could listen to Kurt.

“We won.” Kurt’s grin grew bigger, if that were even possible, and he let out a soft little laugh. “We're going to Nationals. The judges loved our songs and...oh, Blaine, it was perfect. I can't believe it. We're actually going to Nationals in New York City.”

“I'm sorry I wasn't there.”

“It's okay. It's not like you got sick on purpose. And like Carole said, there will be other performances. We _are_ going to Nationals after all.”

Blaine laughed softly. “Say it one more time.”

“We're going to _Nationals_.” The look on Kurt’s face was enough to set anyone's heart fluttering and Blaine found himself smiling back, despite the rolling in his stomach and the clammy sweat that stuck his clothes to his skin.

“What...what did the Warblers sing?” He wasn't certain he wanted to know. He felt guilty enough for abandoning them. It was one of the reasons he hadn't joined New Directions, he couldn't compete against them after leaving them like that. But knowing that they lost, that they might have had a fighting chance against the force of New Directions if he had stayed, was almost too painful.

“They did Misery, by Maroon Five,” Kurt said. “Jeff sang lead. He did...he was good.” His voice was entirely too optimistic, the look in his eyes belying his words.

Blaine cringed. “That bad, huh?”

“It was just obvious that he was nervous. I think he was trying too hard to be like you, so he ended up losing himself. It showed. The other one they did was a Pink medley; they shared the leads for that one. It was better. It just didn't have...it didn't have your energy.”

“They must hate me.”

“No.” Kurt’s fingers brushed gently at Blaine’s sweat-slick face, his eyes creased with concern. “Wes found me backstage, after. He said to tell you that they all understood why you had to leave, and that they miss you.”

Blaine’s eyes welled up with tears again and he turned his face into the pillow, that familiar ache blooming in his chest once more. His time at Dalton was tainted. He had loved it there, more than any place else in the world, but the pain it had caused overrode the happiness like a freight-train. He couldn't even think of his best friends without resenting them for staying there after what had happened to him.

His stomach churned, but he wasn't entirely certain it was because of the flu this time, and he turned away from Kurt, burying himself beneath the blankets. “You should sleep in your bed. I don't want to get you sick.”

Kurt didn't move. Blaine heard him sigh softly, the happiness over their win dampened by Blaine’s issues, again. “Do you _want_ me to go?” he asked softly.

Blaine felt the trembling start in his shoulders and more tears slipped out of his tightly closed eyes. He shook his head, couldn't make himself say ' _never, not ever, please don't leave me_ '.

After a little shuffling Kurt’s arms wrapped gently around Blaine’s chest, pulling him back close to the coolness of his body. Blaine closed his eyes against the ache of it and fell asleep again with the sound of Kurt singing softly in the darkness.

*

By the third day of his illness Blaine was finally starting to feel human again. He was keeping down actual food and had even convinced Carole that he wouldn't die if she went to work. He had lounged in bed all day feeling utterly useless and bored out of his mind. He wasn't used to sitting idle and it made him feel itchy. 

When Kurt and Finn finally returned from school, having stayed late to begin working on their Nationals performance, Blaine was about ready to jump out of his skin. 

“Hi, boys,” Carole said as she walked into the living room just as they came through the front door, her hands full with a large tray. “Dinner's going to be a bit late tonight.”

Finn looked wistfully at the tray in her hands, one large hand patting absently at his stomach. “Can't I have soup too?”

The savory smell coming from the bowl on the tray was making Blaine’s stomach rumble in appreciation, eager to eat something other than dry toast. The look on Finn's face when his mother shook her head was comically tragic.

“No.” Carole skirted passed Finn's reaching hands and walked over to the couch where Blaine was sitting with a blanket in his lap and his school books strewn out around him. “This is for Blaine. You're not sick, you can wait.”

“You didn't baby me when _I_ was sick,” Finn complained as he watched Carole place the tray with soup and orange juice on Blaine’s lap.

“That's because it was your own fault. Honestly, Finn, a kissing booth? What were you thinking? What was Mr. Schuester thinking _letting_ you? I'm surprised you didn't end up with half a dozen different diseases.”

Finn blushed and immediately dropped the subject. Blaine knew full well that Finn's bout with mono over Valentine's day had nothing to do with the kissing booth. Finn had confessed to Kurt about the kiss with Quinn, and so of course Kurt had told Blaine as well. Blaine didn't know how Finn kept any of his secrets, he told so many people about them.

Carole rolled her eyes at her son and sat down on the couch beside Blaine, adjusting the blankets on his lap. “You two go put your school things away, and then come back out and help me and it might go faster.”

Finn's eyes grew comically wide. “You want me to _cook_?”

The look Carole gave him was one of true motherly frustration, with that ever-present layer of unconditional love behind it. Finn just pouted and slunk towards his room. Kurt gave Blaine a small smile before following his brother out of the living room.

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly, placing the back of her hand of Blaine’s forehead to check his temperature.

Blaine shrugged, taking a tentative bite of his soup - homemade chicken noodle, was Carole really that awesome? Blaine didn't know that people like her actually existed outside of 1950's sitcoms. “I'm not puking my guts out, so there's that. I'm just...not just sure what to do with myself,” he confessed. “Usually when I'm sick I just...”

“Tough it out?” Carole offered with a sad smile.

Blaine shrugged again. “My dad always said that being sick was just an excuse. That a real man can do his work no matter what.”

“Yeah, well, your dad's an ass.”

Blaine snorted into his soup, coughing slightly when the warm liquid ended up going down the wrong direction. Carole patted him gently on the back.

“Well, he is,” she said, a small smile pulling at her mouth. “In the real world, people, _especially_ men, turn into big babies when they're sick and demand coddling and lots of sympathy. Welcome to the real world.”

Blaine just took another bite of his soup and smiled.


End file.
